❥・summary. it’s satoru’s birthday, but tonight, you’re the one giving the surprises. taking charge in a way he never saw coming, you leave the strongest man completely unraveled—and utterly yours.
❥・tags/warnings. nsfw 18+, smut, fluff, established relationship, you're both sorcerers, satoru's a dom but you switch on him, feral satoru, needy satoru, praise, blowjob, penetration, creampie
❥・wc. 4.7k
❥・a/n. happy bday to pookie. i wanted this out yesterday, but better late than never~
Clue #1: Not even Six Eyes can see where this hunt will take you~ Let’s test that vision, birthday boy ♡
Perched atop a box of his favorite candy, the first clue card leaned casually—daring him to dive in.
Taking a step back, you scan the setup one last time—adjusting the candy box perfectly against the coffee table, trying to get it right.
Everything had to be perfect. Were you a bit over the top? Maybe.
But with Satoru, drama was practically a love language—one you were willing to indulge for your strongest sorcerer.
As you step back one last time, a familiar tingle runs down your spine—a whisper of energy brushing against your senses.
His cursed energy. He was close.
Exhaling softly, you dart toward the hallway, slipping just out of view. The faint buzz of his presence grows stronger, steady and sure, like the hum of electricity before a storm—both a beacon of his immense power and an anchor of comfort.
Pressing your back against the wall, you bite back a grin. Timing this just right was everything—you want to spoil him today.
As the front door creaked open, his voice rang through the silence.
"Babe? I’m home!"
His tone carries that familiar playfulness—though there’s a faint edge to it, a tiredness that only you can catch.
Oh, Satoru.
You’d spent half the morning trying to talk him into staying home, coaxing him to let himself off the hook for just one day. But, in true Satoru fashion, he had only laughed, brushing you off with a wink and that infuriatingly charming grin.
“Come on, sweetheart,” he’d said, adjusting his blindfold like he was gearing up for battle. “The strongest doesn’t get days off. Besides, they’d be lost without me.”
It was a line he loved to repeat—part pride, part persona, but you knew better.
Beneath the confidence and swagger was someone who carried more weight than he’d ever admit—a man who wouldn’t let himself slow down, even when the exhaustion clung to him like a second shadow.
Stepping inside, his long frame stretched ever so slightly as he leaned against the doorframe for a moment. His snowy hair catches the dim light, strands framing his sharp features, and a soft sigh escapes his lips—quiet but telling.
With an almost lazy motion, he toes off his shoes, the soft thud echoing through the entryway. He stood for a beat, rolling his neck as if shaking off the day before reaching up to tug off his blindfold. As the fabric slips through his fingers, he absently ruffles his hair.
“Sweetheart?” he calls again, a little softer now, curiosity threading through his tone.
His gaze sweeps the room, sharp and calculating, lingering on the quiet corners as if he could sense you hiding just out of view.
And let’s face it, he probably could—nothing gets past those eyes. But you hope, no pray that your cursed veil keeps you concealed. Just this once. You’ve been practicing, trying to catch up to him.
Your heart races as you watched him settle, and the moment his eyes land on the candy box perched on the coffee table, his head tilts slightly—a lazy grin tugging at the corner of his lips as he plucks the card from the box.
“What’s this?” he muses, lifting the card as he holds it up into the light. “Not even Six Eyes can see where this hunt will take you… let’s test that vision, birthday boy… oho, really now?” he smirks.
Flipping the card over, his grin grows as his eyes scan the back.
“A clue?” he murmurs, tilting his head as he reads the next message. "Start where we share quiet mornings, and you always steal the last sip," he quotes, carrying an affectionate lilt. His grin widens as his fingers tap the card lightly against his chin. “Sooo… the kitchen then?”
Glancing toward the kitchen, Satoru smirks, muttering to himself “Alright, let’s play.”
Peeking out from your hiding spot, your grin grows as you watch him step through the doorway.
Got him.
The moment he enters the kitchen, he pauses by the counter, and his sharp blue eyes narrow slightly, sweeping over the surfaces. His fingers brush against a stray mug, and his grin grows wider, realization flickering across his face.
"Stealing the last sip… huh?” he murmurs to himself, the phrase clicking into place.
Of course. How many times had Satoru leaned over your shoulder, stealing the final taste of your coffee with that maddening smirk, knowing full well he’d get a playful swat in return?
Moving towards the coffee machine, his long legs carry him in unhurried strides, before his gaze lands on the next clue—nestled beside the machine on a small tray.
Sitting against the counter, the tray held perfectly arranged kikifuku mochi—a chilled bottle of melon soda alongside it—its condensation gathering in lazy droplets, catching the light.
Oh, he’s pleased—his favorite indulgences. With a soft grin, he leans against the counter, plucking one of the mochi off the plate.
“You know me too well…” he sighs.
Holding up the mochi, he inspects it with mock seriousness, before plopping it into his mouth with a satisfied hum.
“Mm, perfect as always,” he mutters to himself, savoring the sweetness spreading across his tongue as he reaches for the melon soda next—twisting off the cap with an easy flick and taking a small sip.
“Alright…” he sighs contentedly, placing the soda down. “You’re spoiling me now, sweetheart. But where are you? I wanna properly thank you.”
He pauses for a moment, waiting for you to reveal yourself, but then, his gaze flicks to the card nestled beside the tray.
Picking it up, a slow grin breaks across his face as he begins reading it.
“More? Let’s see what’s next…”
Clue #2: A little sweetness to keep you going—because even the strongest needs a sugar boost. Happy Birthday, my favorite mochi thief!
With a quiet laugh, Satoru shakes his head, flipping the card over to reveal the next clue.
Clue #2: Your next clue waits where the fog clears and your ego shines brightest—my handsome birthday boy.
Satoru hums, an eyebrow raising.
“Ohhh, I see how it is… butter me up with mochi, and then call me out. And during my own birthday scavenger hunt? Rude.”
Placing the card down, he opts to plop another mochi into his mouth—humming contently as the sweetness melts on his tongue.
"Alright, alright… the bathroom mirror must be next,” he sighs, grinning as he pushes himself off the counter. “Let’s see what you’ve got waiting for me there.”
Stepping into the bathroom, his sharp eyes immediately catch sight of the bold, glossy red lipstick, pressed in a kiss against the mirror. Below it, a small note is taped to the glass, written in your familiar handwriting:
💋 A kiss for the handsomest birthday boy—don’t worry though, I left room for you to admire yourself too♡
His lips curve into a wide grin, and leaning in closer, he tilts his head—studying the lipstick mark with mock seriousness. As his fingers brush the edge of the note, he lets out an exaggerated sigh.
"Tch… a kiss and a roast, all in one. Wow. Classic you…" he mutters with a dramatic pout. Staring at the mirror for a beat longer, he groans, letting out a soft whine. "But where are my real kisses, sweetheart? You can’t just leave me hanging like this on my birthday."
He waits again—ready for you to reveal yourself, but nothing. Then, his gaze drops, and he notices a sleek bottle of cologne sitting neatly on the counter—a second card propped beside it.
Picking it up, he turns the bottle over, inspecting it in one hand before plucking the card from its resting place with his other.
Clue #3: A spritz of this and you’ll be even harder to resist. Hehe. Not that I needed any convincing~
A wicked grin breaks across his face as he chuckles, uncapping the bottle.
“You’re really going all out, aren’t you?” he murmurs, spraying the cologne lightly onto his neck and wrist—his head tilting as the scent unfurls around him. “Mmm, well… my girl always has good taste…”
His fingers linger on the bottle for a moment before setting it down, but then, he blinks—his eyes growing wide as he flips the card—reading what’s on the back.
Clue #3: Your final present is where all good nights begin… and some even better ones end. Don’t keep me waiting, birthday boy ♡
・❥・
As Satoru creeks the bedroom door open, the room is bathed in a warm flickering candlelight—dancing along the walls with playful shadows, shifting with every subtle movement.
His cerulean eyes scan the dimly lit space, snowy lashes fluttering as he searches for you—where are you? The faint scent of vanilla and something sweeter—undeniably you—lingers in the air.
“Alright…” he drawls softly, “Darling, where, and how, are you hiding from me?”
He turns around to close the door softly behind him, but as he shifts back, before he can take another step, movement catches his eyes—you—revealed like a secret unveiled.
His breath catches audibly and he is momentarily frozen as you step forward from behind the door—delicate lace clinging against your curves, the intricate patterns of your elegant lingerie teasing him with glimpses of your supple skin.
This wasn’t like you. Not completely. The confident tilt of your head, the way you step toward him with deliberate, measured grace—it’s a side of you he doesn’t see often, and it stirs something deep within him.
For weeks, you’d been planning this moment, turning the idea over in your mind, wavering between uncertainty and resolve. But now, standing here under his gaze, you feel no hesitation. The roles were shifting, and the change sends a delicious thrill coursing through his veins.
His silence bolsters your resolve, and tilting your head slightly, a slow, knowing smile spreads across your lips.
“Hey, welcome home. Happy birthday, Satoru.”
His lips part, a sharp exhale slipping past them before he regains his composure. His eyes—darkened now with a heat that’s growing deep between his legs—sweep over you once more before flicking back up to meet yours.
“Well… hello," his voice is low, edged with restraint, and there’s a flicker of a grin on his lips—lazy and teasing—but it falters briefly as his gaze dips again.
“I don’t know if I want to worship you, or ruin you…"
As his grin grows, sharper now, he leans his weight slightly against the doorframe. Tilting his head, his white tousled hair falls into his eyes as he looks at you—like you’ve hung the stars in the sky.
“Maybe both… definitely both.”
Stepping closer, your fingers reach for him, trailing lightly up his chest.
"Enjoying the view?" you trace the lines of his shirt with teasing precision. "Or… do you need a closer look, birthday boy?"
The corner of his mouth twitches into a grin as your hands begin brushing over his shoulders—sliding down his arms. His hand rises, catching yours as his fingers curl gently around it.
“My, my, princess,” he drawls, gaze flicking across your body approvingly. “Is this what you were planning while I was out saving the world? Remind me to never leave you alone again.”
Before you can counter, his other hand slides to your waist, pulling you flush against him and his growing erection.
“I think I need a very… very close look indeed, gorgeous,” his lips brush against the shell of your ear before giving it a gentle nip. “But first… let me have a taste of you.”
The moment the words leave his lips, his mouth captures yours in a kiss that steals the air from your very lungs. He was hungry for you—something wild snapping within him as your fingers tangle in his silky hair, humming softly against his lips.
He growls, consuming you as his tongue teases the seam of your lips, coaxing them apart—and of course, you surrender to him. The kiss becomes electric—his hands sliding down to your ass, pulling you insistently against him as he kneads your curves desperately.
"Mmm," he hums, breaking the kiss just enough to murmur against your lips. “Yes… fuck, you’re perfect…” he grins, nudging you back towards the bed, unhurried but insistent as he murmurs, “happy birthday to me…”
He swallows your laugh, continuing to kiss you breathlessly as his hands caress you, but you gasp into his mouth the moment the back of your knees hit the edge of the mattress.
As your body bounces against the bed, his weight follows immediately—sliding his knee between your legs, nudging them apart. The heat radiating from him is intoxicating, and the world outside ceases to exist as he leans over you—white hair falling like a curtain around you both.
Ah… but wait… this is your day to be in control.
Before he can take full command, you grin against his lips, shifting your weight underneath him.
“Oh, Satoru…” you push him back, flipping your positions as you force him onto his back. “Who said I was done with you?”
The moment he hits the mattress, a soft huff of surprise escapes him as you climb over him—straddling his hips with a grin that’s equal parts playful and wicked.
“Wha—”
He blinks up at you, his sharp blue eyes wide for a fraction of a second before they darken with interest. Then, a slow, lazy grin spreads across his face as his hands settle on your thighs—both possessive yet gentle.
“Well, well…” his thumbs draw slow, lazy circles against your skin. “Look who’s taking charge…”
Leaning forward, you caress the curve of his jaw—your lips hovering just over his. He groans as his fingers tighten on your thighs.
“You’re always so quick to take control…” your lips brush against his in a feather-light tease, leaving him chasing after you as you pull back. “Buuut… it’s your birthday, Satoru. Today, let me spoil you.”
His breath hitches as your fingers trail down his chest—toying with the buttons of his shirt—one by one, unfastening them, slowly and deliberately.
As the fabric draws apart, the pale expanse of his chest is revealed, and your hands begin mapping out his muscles. You feel him grow underneath you, spurring you on.
“F-Fuck—,” he groans as your lips find the curve of his neck, pressing soft, lingering kisses down the hollow of his throat.
Tilting hit head back, his snowy hair splays like a halo around him as he bares more of his throat to you—a surrender, yet the way his hands flex against your thighs tells you how close he is to snapping.
You know he wants to flip you beneath him and take what he wants.
As his cock stiffens under you, you smirk against his skin, rolling your hips against him slowly, deliberately—pulling a hoarse sound from his throat as his breath stutters.
“Damn it,” he groans, hands caressing your hips, “you’re driving me fucking insane, you know that?”
You hum in amusement, your kisses trailing lower, following your hands as they map the hard planes of his chest, the taut lines of his stomach. Shifting yourself lower, you reach the waistband of his pants, and your fingers lightly graze the fabric, teasing him with the barest hint of pressure.
His mouth drops open and his hips buck slightly beneath you—a groan escaping him, low and desperate. “Ah—baby…” he breathes, a plea and a prayer, desperate for friction.
Your lips hover just above his stomach, and your fingers dip just beneath the waistband of his pants without going further. The heat of him is palpable, and his hands flex beside him as he watches you through half-lidded eyes.
“What’s wrong, Satoru?” you murmur, light and teasing. “You’re not losing control already… are you? I thought you were the strongest.”
His sharp blue eyes snap open, dark and hooded as they lock onto yours. For a second, he looks torn—caught between letting you lead and giving in to the all-consuming need to dominate.
“Careful sweetheart,” he warns, a growl threading through each word, “or I’ll remind you who’s really in charge.”
The threat is intoxicating, but you don’t falter. You know that if you pushed him just a little further, he’d flip you beneath him and pin you to this bed.
But tonight? Tonight is different. You’re in control, and you’re not letting him take it back—not yet, at least.
“Maybe you’re not as in control as you think you are, birthday boy.”
With a wicked grin, you press your palm lightly against the outline of his erection—a strangled whine tearing through his throat as it throbs eagerly against your hand.
“Fuck,” he hisses through gritted teeth, his head tipping back against the pillow as his hands tighten into fists at his sides. “Just… fucking touch me already…”
“Impatient, aren’t you?” you tease, dragging your palm over his length in a slow, deliberate stroke that has his chest heaving. “You’re really not used to this, are you? Being the one who has to wait…”
His eyes snap back to yours, and the frustration flickering in their depths is delicious.
“You’re enjoying this way too much,” he mutters.
“Oh, I am,” you admit shamelessly as your fingers finally work at the button of his pants. “And judging by how hard you are…” you drag the zipper down with an excruciating slowness, tracing the prominent outline of his cock with your fingers, “…you don’t seem to mind all that much.”
“Fuck, princess… you…”
As your hand wraps around him through the fabric, your thumb brushes over the damp spot forming at the tip, and the sound that escapes him—half moan, half plea—is utterly sinful.
“Baby, please,” he pants, voice breaking as his hands clutch the sheets. “Touch me… fuck, I need—”
His plea dissolves into a low, aching moan as your fingers finally slip beneath the waistband of his pants, brushing against his bare skin. His cock springs free, hard and heavy, and the sharp exhale he releases—half relief, half desperation—makes your cunt drip in exhilaration.
A bead of precum glistens at the tip, and your thumb smears it slowly, deliberately, as you look up at him through your lashes. His lips part in a silent moan, his chest heaving as his hips jerk toward you again, seeking more of the pleasure you so teasingly deny.
But this time, you don’t deny him.
Your tongue flicks out, tracing a line along his length, allowing the salty tang of his precum to spread in your mouth. As your lips close around the tip, you take him in slowly, your cheeks hollowing as you draw him deeper, inch by inch.
He falls apart.
“Haaa—pretty girl…” his hips snap upward, “so fucking good…” he’s desperate, “just like that… don’t stop.”
And you let him take what he needs—your lips and tongue working in tandem—each broken moan falling from his lips as he loses himself in the wet heat of your mouth.
“hnngh… take it…” his voice is wrecked as his head falls back against the pillow, exposing the long column of his throat. His abs tighten under your hands as his hips roll, pushing deeper, “haaa—fuck… good fucking girl… love that mouth of yours.”
The praise makes heat pool between your legs as you hum softly around him—the filthy, debauched sounds falling from his lips encouraging you further.
But you’re not done teasing him. Not yet.
Just as he’s on the verge of falling apart, you pull back, your lips leaving him with a soft, wet pop—making him groan in frustration. His cock twitches in the cool air—slick with your spit—and the desperation in his eyes when you glance up at him is utterly delicious.
“You’re so easy to unravel Satoru…” your tongue flicks out again and your eyes darken with mischief. “For someone who’s supposed to be the strongest, you really—”
Oh, you’ve done it now.
His hands are on you, gripping your waist as he flips you onto your back, making your head spin. The sudden shift has you gasping, and the wicked grin that spreads across his face is nothing short of feral.
“You’re done,” his fingers hook into the delicate lace of your lingerie, and with a sharp tug, the audible rip makes your eyes widen. “My turn.”
“S-Satoru!” you stare up at him.
“Sorry…” he murmurs, though the grin curling upon his lips is anything but apologetic. His hands grip your thighs, spreading you open as he settles between them. “Just wanted to unwrap my gift.”
The heat of his thick, flushed head presses against your entrance—making your head tilt back, a whimper slipping past your lips as you anticipate what’s to come.
But he doesn’t ease into you. No. Not Satoru.
With a singular thrust, he buries himself to the hilt with a force so intense, it makes your back arch off the bed. The stretch is overwhelming, delicious—every inch of him filling you completely.
You pant, keening, and he stills for a moment, letting you adjust—but… only for a moment. Satoru’s patience doesn’t last long. Not with the way your walls clench around him so intoxicatingly so.
“There we go… that’s it…” he chuckles wickedly as he leans over you, his forehead brushing against yours. His hands grip your hips, holding you in place as he pulls back slightly. “Fucking take it,” his hips snap forward, harder this time. “This what you wanted?”
Your gasp turns into a strangled wine as he sets a brutal pace, his cock driving into your cunt, slamming into you with reckless abandon. The smack of your skin mixes with your broken cries as he takes what he needs.
“Such a tease,” his teeth nip at your neck, drawing a whimper from your lips as he bites down, leaving his mark. “Let’s see how confident you are when you’re screaming my name.”
“S-Satoru—” His name spills from your lips in a broken cry as your nails dig into his biceps, struggling to keep up with his sheer force.
“Yes, my pretty girl?” he coos tauntingly, lips curving into a wicked grin. “Haaa—look at you… falling apart just for me… so fucking tight—God you feel so good.”
He shifts the angle, pulling your legs higher as he sinks deeper—his dick splitting you open, making you see stars. The pressure is maddening, and your thighs tremble as you squirm beneath him.
But he’s relentless.
His hands slide up to catch your wrists, pinning them above your head as he leans over you.
“You’re mine,” his pace grows rougher, harder, the bed shaking underneath you. “Fucking mine. Hear me? Nnnngh… gonna fill you up—fuck, baby, you’re gonna take all of me.”
Your body arches into him, the coil of heat in your core tightening with every thrust until it’s unbearable, ready to snap.
And then it does.
The orgasm tears through you like a tidal wave, your walls clamping down on him in rhythmic pulses as you cry out—gripping him like a vice, pulsing rhythmically as pleasure explodes through your body.
It’s blinding, all-consuming, every nerve in your body alight with sensation as you come apart beneath him.
“Fuck—fuck, yes,” he groans, voice breaking as you tighten around him. His hips stutter, his cock throbbing inside you—the tight, wet heat of your cunt pushing him to his limit. “Shit—I can’t—m’ cuming.”
His body trembles above yours—thick, hot spurts of his cum spilling into you, flooding your core as his cock pulses through his climax.
He’s babbling now—lost in the haze of pleasure—his words tumbling, slurred and wrecked as he collapses against you.
“God, you’re perfect,” he rasps, hips rolling lazily, chasing the last aftershocks as he pushes his cum deeper. “So fucking perfect. Shit—fuck, I love you… love you so much, my good girl.”
For a moment, the room is quiet save for the sound of your uneven breaths and the lingering hum of pleasure coursing through your veins. His hands release your wrists, sliding down your arms to cup your face, brushing over your flushed cheeks as he leans in, capturing your lips in a soft, lingering kiss.
When he pulls back, his forehead presses against yours, his ocean blue eyes heavy-lidded and filled with something softer now—something deeper.
“You’re incredible,” he murmurs softly. A lopsided grin tugs at his lips as his fingers trace idle patterns along your jawline. “And sexy as hell, by the way… that little stunt of yours? Taking charge like that?” He chuckles softly, groaning. “Fuck… almost killed me.”
A laugh bubbles out of you, light and breathless as you run your fingers through his sweat-dampened hair.
“Almost? You’re the one who ripped my lingerie, Satoru,” you arch a brow at him. “You owe me a new set. No—make that two.”
His grin turns sheepish, though the mischievous glint in his eyes remains.
“Consider it done,” he presses a kiss to the tip of your nose. “I’ll always buy you whatever you want. Hell, I’ll buy you a whole drawer full if it means I get to rip it off you again.”
“Good lord,” you roll your eyes, feigning exasperation as you lightly swat his shoulder. “You’re lucky I love you.”
“Lucky?” He quirks a brow, grin softening as he leans closer, murmuring against your lips, “Sweetheart… I’m the luckiest guy alive.”
His arms wrap around you, shifting slightly as he pulls you into his chest—rolling onto his side and taking you with him. The sticky warmth of his release drips between your thighs and his hand rubs soothing circles along your back.
“Seriously, though…” he murmurs quietly, eyes softening. “Thank you… for all of this. For you. For everything. I love you so damn much.”
The sincerity in his tone makes your chest tighten, and a slow smile spreads up your lips. You snuggle closer, pressing a kiss to his jaw.
“I love you too, Satoru… happy birthday.”
He hums contentedly, and for a moment, you both linger there, bathed in the glow of candlelight—tangled together in the quiet intimacy of the moment.
But when you finally begin to shift, attempting to pull away, his arms tighten around you instantly, accompanied by a soft, petulant whine. His lips brush against your shoulder as he buries his face in the crook of your neck—soft tousles of his hair tickling your skin.
“No,” he mumbles, muffled but unmistakably pouty. “Stay. Like this. Just a little longer.”
“Satoru,” you chide, grinning as your fingers thread through his hair. “I need to get cleaned up honey.”
He pouts harder, his hold tightening as he buries his face further.
“Nope,” he declares stubbornly. “You’re staying right here. Forever.”
His childish protest pulls a laugh from you, light and airy.
“Come on birthday boy…” you wriggle slightly in his arms. “I have to clean up so I can prep your birthday cake.”
That gets his attention.
He pulls back just enough to look at you, his sapphire eyes sparkling with playful mischief. A slow, cheeky grin spreads across his face, and you can practically see the wheels turning in his head.
“Why blow out my candles… when you can just blow me again?”
You blink at him, momentarily caught off guard, before your hand instinctively flies to his shoulder, delivering a light but reprimanding swat.
“S-Satoru!”
He bursts into laughter, warm and unrepentant as he tightens his arms around you, pulling you flush against his chest once more.
“What?” he protests innocently, grin widening as he presses a kiss to your temple. “It is my birthday, after all.”
“Unbelievable,” you mutter, though the smile tugging at your lips betrays your exasperation.
His laughter softens into a contented hum as he nuzzles into your hair, his grip loosening just enough to let you breathe. Perhaps, for now, the world can wait—there’s nowhere else you’d rather be than here, wrapped up in him.
Your strongest sorcerer.
a/n. i just love him sm :') hbd to our beautifully, sweet & perfect blue eyed king.
💭 thinking about . . . . accidental pregnancy with caleb
tw. colonel caleb x fem!reader, suggestive content, angst, accidental pregnancy, a character study on what caleb would do when we get pregnant including his choices and how he navigates the threat of ever, mentions of abortion, wife-basement(ing), possessive caleb, mentions of violence, 3.2k+ words
It shouldn’t have happened. It was a mistake.
But, Caleb can hardly fault you.
As he stares at the tracker on his phone, seeing your missed period, he wonders what’s going on in that stubborn mind of yours.
And, why haven't you reached out to him yet with the news.
In times like these, he wishes he wasn’t separated from you by the sky; that he was on the ground to bring you into his arms, hold you tight and ease some of his anxiety. As he switches off the dim screen, he massages the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger.
There’s only one thing left for him to do, and it’s not a pretty decision.
Resolutely, he books his next trip to Linkon, and this time, he’s not leaving until he makes sure you’ll be with him—forever.
The whole apartment is quiet as you stare down at the mess of contents in the toilet bowl.
Images, like flickering mirages, flit through your mind.
Caleb’s body over yours, the warmth pressing you down into the mattress. The feeling of being completely and utterly possessed by him in the heat of the moment. Kind, purple eyes flashing with unending adoration for you as he held you in the afterglow. The last goodbye was over a month ago when he left you to settle some urgent Fleet business, and you’ve missed him ever since.
Sighing softly, you flush the toilet and stand, feeling the edge of nausea digging right into your consciousness as you stumble back into your bedroom. With a groan, you flop onto the bed, tucking a small pillow right to your belly, holding onto it and pretending that it’s Caleb instead. You frown and resist the urge to call him. Outside, the birds are chirping and a spring breeze blows past the wispy curtains, ruffling your hair. It’s calming, and makes you doze off, the weight of this secret holding you down in fatigue till you don’t notice the bed dipping beside you and fingers in your hair.
When your eyes flutter open, you’re met with pensive purple ones—instantly snapping you awake.
“Caleb—!”
He wraps his arms around you, and presses a soft kiss to the top of your head. “Pipsqueak. I’m home.”
Blearily, you rub your eyes and stifle a yawn. “W-when did you get back?”
“An hour ago.” He frowns. “You forgot to latch your door. Again. Someone might come in and it wouldn’t be pretty.”
You resist the urge to roll your eyes. “I’m not a kid anymore, Caleb. I can handle myself,” you fake a bright smile. “Besides, if anyone dares to break into a Hunter’s home, they can catch my guns!”
“You say that, but give it a few more months and that big ol’ belly will be in the way of you landing a good punch.”
The air leaves your lungs.
Silence weaves in thick, cold currents, and you don’t know where to look—how to respond to his astute observation. It hits you then: of course, Caleb would know. He knows everything about you. The ins and the outs. What you love, hate, like, adore. He’s a walking encyclopedia of knowledge about you, and did you think you could hide something this momentous from him?
His palm, large and warm, creeps towards your belly. There’s a hitch in his breath—half pain, half wonder.
“... how long have you been keeping this under wraps, baby?”
Hearing your favorite nickname fall from his lips in such a tender cadence springs tears into your eyes. For days you wrestled with the conundrum of reaching out to him or staying mute. The tender breasts, aching belly, sleepless nights. You would endure it all if it meant not letting Caleb worry. He already had too much on his plate—he didn’t need another battle to fight because of you.
“A…” you trail off, heaving in a deep sigh. “A few days…”
Caleb makes the same consternated sound again. “Baby, you know I would’ve immediately come to you if I knew.”
You swallow and stare down at your pink, floral sheets. “I—I didn’t know how to approach this… how you would react—”
He senses the impending sorrow lining your throat and eyes, and pulls you firmly against his chest. “Hey, hey. Don’t cry… I’m not gonna leave you like this, baby. You know me. Through thick and thin, right? I’m here for you.”
Caleb smoothes his hand down your hair, patting your head and back gently. Despite the confidence he displays, he can’t help the shard of worry piercing his chest. It elevates his heartbeat, and he has to take a few, deep steady breaths to keep his neurons stable.
The whole ballgame has changed. This doesn’t just concern him and you anymore, but another soul—one he can’t bear to put in harm's way because of his unfortunate circumstances.
His heart is heavy, and the words feel like lead in his mouth, but he has to ask you this. Ask you for a possibility to protect yourself first.
“Do you… want it?”
The elephant in the room lays as a speck deep in your body. You awkwardly press your hand to your belly and lower your gaze, conflict brewing like heavy tar in your chest.
“I… I don’t know—”
He seizes on this opportunity to change your mind. “Pipsqueak… you know I love you, right?”
You nod. He presses on. “And, you know I want the best for you, right?”
Again, you nod.
“What do you think… about… scheduling an appointment to remove it?”
Your heart stops beating in your chest. A breath, shaky and vulnerable, trembles from your lips and you look up at him as if he’s gone mad.
“What? Wh-why would you say that?”
It’s like a flip has been switched. Caleb’s no longer the loving, understanding man who swept in to save you at the last moment.
His eyes are hard. Unyielding.
“Pipsqueak, you don’t get it, do you?” He grabs your wrist, and you fight back to no avail. Frustration seeps into his tone, and he shakes you slightly like you’re an errant, nonsensical child.
“This isn’t just me and you anymore. We have a baby—an innocent soul to protect. We can’t—” Swallowing hard, he shakes his head, as if to dislodge a dangerous thought. “I can’t protect the two of you at once.”
The silence after his admission rings loudly, and he sucks in a ragged breath.
“Please,” he tries to reason with you, those purple eyes practically dilating with fear. “Please, Pipsqueak. I’ve never asked you for something before—you know me. But, I can’t—” he falters, “—I can’t lose you if I’m not too careful. I already have an entire organization on my ass and—”
It’s like he can’t physically force the words to come out of him. Like he can’t admit his weaknesses.
Caleb’s lower lip trembles and he clenches his jaw, trying to control his surging emotions. He tries again, this time in a steadier voice. “I can’t lose you. I can’t. Don’t make me—don’t make me choose between you or this baby. I will always choose you.”
You have no idea whether it’s the hormones or the sheer horror of this lose-lose situation that gets to you. Tears sting your eyes, and you have to look away from him, feeling sick to your gut.
The truth is, while weren’t exactly the most spiritual or motherly person around, something about the arrival of this baby—on the cusp of spring, no less—makes you believe this little miracle was meant to come into your life.
How could Caleb want to take that away?
Before you can think it through, you shake your head. No, your tears and stubborn set of your pout tells him without words. No—I want this baby.
His eyes harden. The grip on your wrist tightens. “Love, please,” he almost hisses, brows knitted together, mouth twisting into the shadow of a snarl. “Listen to me—you’re thinking with your heart and not your head—”
“No!” You yell, yanking your hand away from his grasp. Rubbing the contused flesh, fresh tears spring down your cheeks, further exacerbating his guilt.
He can’t take the sight of you crying and stands up from the bed, pacing the room. You’ve never seen Caleb look this stressed out in your life, not even when he almost flunk his basketball tryouts because of a food poisoning mishap. While you rub your eyes, he’s running a hand through his dark locks, pinching his temples and shooting his gaze skyward as if some higher being would help him out.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity in this stalemate, he relents.
“Love…” He sits on the edge of the bed, and you don’t fight him when he takes your hand. His expression is weary, speaking volumes of this difficult position you’ve put him in. But, you can’t be the one to compromise this time—not on something this big.
Irrational as it is, you want this baby. You want this proof of love that is a piece of you and Caleb.
And, you want it with him.
Intertwining your fingers together, he squeezes your palm and sighs heavily. “If we are to do this, I have a few rules you need to follow—ah bub bub bub. Let me finish.” Grabbing your chin and tipping your head up so you can face him, Caleb’s expression is stern, brokering no room for protests.
“Linkon isn’t safe—whatever forces that want me in Skyhaven also have their sticky hands here,” he tightens his grip. “The safest place you have is with me, princess. Always by my side. Do you understand me? Nod if you do.”
Slowly, you bob your head once.
“Good,” the look in his purple irises is devastating—a man on the verge of risking everything he loves.
“Do you want to hear the rules now?”
His voice is low. Gravelly.
Fear, pure and unadulterated, floods through you as you have no choice but to nod again.
He takes a deep breath, and the two of you stand at a precipice of the biggest leap of faith in your lives. There’s no turning back now; not when you’ve made this choice.
The rules are as such—
You wake up in the middle of a large, king-sized bed to the slow rise of an artificial dawn.
The room’s modulated temperature begins to warm, and your Circadian rhythm kickstarts along with the preset smart lights and thermostat modes. Recycled air flows through the basement’s vents, and you sit up, already feeling the first stirrings of nausea encroaching your consciousness.
You grumble and turn to the side, finding his blanket folded neatly, not a trace of Caleb to be found besides your aching body and the slight mess still staining the sheets from last night’s activities. You wrinkle your nose and lug yourself up heavily, stripping the duvet and ambling over to the washing machine, stuffing it full with the floral linen he had let you choose for this studio apartment.
If you forget about the fact that you’re currently housed in a bunker beneath his Skyhaven home that’s fortified with passcodes, equipped with CCTVs and only accessible to him, you would think the way he modeled it to look exactly like your dream apartment would be sweet.
Sighing, your hand drifts over to your belly, feeling the smooth, slightly misshapen dome dimpling under your touch.
Through layers of skin, sinew, muscle and fat, lies a little boy you can’t wait to meet in a few months time—Caleb’s son, snugly protected and still asleep, judging by the lack of kicks.
A sudden beep stirs you from your thoughts, and you turn to find the doors whirring open.
Speak of the man himself, and he shall appear. Caleb shoots you a warm smile, his arms heavy with bags of groceries. A layer of drizzle clings to the ends of his hair, and he shakes his head slightly, dislodging the dew drops. Without thinking, you step forward, and smooth your thumb over the raindrop right under his eye.
The cool water immediately evaporates at your touch, but you bring it to your cheek, as if you could mimic the droplets falling from the sky onto your skin.
It isn’t hard for Caleb to sense the longing in your actions. He puts the groceries down and takes you into his arms, the curve of your softening belly pressed tightly against his hard planes.
“Just a few more weeks, okay?” He hums. He had promised that once you hit the second trimester, he would move you to another secluded spot, but this time, you would be afforded more freedom and movement to raise Oliver.
Pictures of a house in the middle of an island free from Protofield fluctuations fill your mind, and you sincerely believe Caleb’s done the impossible—he’s actually found you two a safe haven away from Skyhaven.
The hours pass and soon, night falls, and the artificial lights begin to dim. Since setting up this emergency bunker for you, Caleb has sorely neglected his own bedroom and home above ground, preferring to sleep with you in this makeshift apartment. He holds you close, breath stirring the loose ends of your hair, and gently traces a pattern on your bare back.
“Pips,” he hesitates, “Can I ask you something?”
You blink your sleepy eyes—truly, pregnancy has rendered you almost physically useless—and nod.
Caleb takes a moment to construct the question in his mind, and when he does, he gauges your reaction carefully. The last thing he wants is to upset his pregnant lover.
“Why do… Why do you want this baby so badly?” He backtracks, humming and hawing. “What I mean is—even when we were kids, you let me assume most of the responsibilities when we adopted that stray cat, and you told me that you hated dolls because you couldn’t be bothered to brush their hair when it got tangled… so what changed?”
The soft whir from the AC fills in the silence, and you take a moment to answer him.
“It’s cause… I thought I would never get a—“ you break off and scowl. “Never mind. It’s stupid.”
“Now, hold on,” he frowns playfully. “We always agreed to never keep anything from each other no matter how silly. So, spill it. What’s brewin’ in that noggin of yours?”
You sigh, knowing he’s not going to let it go until he has an answer, and pout petulantly. “I just… wanted a family of my own, okay?” You exhale the confession like a burst of wind desperate to escape the room. “I thought that this baby would, well, be a new start.” Clutching the sheets, it slowly starts to sink in how stubborn and reckless this decision of yours was, and that Caleb is only complying to it because he doesn’t want to hurt you.
Even if he shares the same thoughts, Caleb doesn’t voice them out.
“You want a home,” he gulps. “With me?”
Is it that hard to believe? Caleb looks like you’ve just told him unicorns exist. The doubt lingering in his expression nearly makes you grin, but you prefer to roll your eyes, instead.
“Yeah… is that so wrong?”
His answer is immediate. “No—uhh,” he tightens his grip around your waist and you can tell he’s itching to crack a big ol’ grin. “I’d like that. Love that, in fact. Yeah—family. You and me. Family.”
But, this happiness is not made to last and a house built on cards will eventually come crashing down.
It’s a random Wednesday night and Caleb’s caught up with some last minute Fleet work that needs his attention. After he’s done signing off a new agreement, he gets up from his chair and heads on home, picking up some takeout he already preordered a few hours ago and a bouquet of blush pink roses for you.
He thinks nothing of the quietness in his home when he arrives, and makes his way down to the basement.
The first thing that hits him is a cool draft of air. Caleb tenses and his eyes widen. The stairwell doesn’t look different, and there’s no trace of an intruder, but a draft like this isn’t supposed to exist… unless—
He sprints down the staircase and his heart sinks right into his boots when he finds the password-encoded door hanging wide open. The keypad locking you behind safe, steel doors, sparks and beeps pathetically, the evidence of gunshot disabling it apparent once he smells the smoke and sees a bullet shell on the ground.
Caleb rushes in, his Skybreaker gun at the ready, only to be greeted by the foul stench of Viper standing in the middle of the living room. Frantically, he looks around and spots you in a corner, terrified and unmoving, your wide eyes fixed on a spot over his shoulder.
The modified man glances at Caleb and snickers vilely. “I sssssee that congratulationsssss are in order.” Viper darts his snake-like gaze to your trembling form huddled behind the sofa. “Ssssso thisss isss where you have hidden yourself from the Professsssor. He missssssed you, Mr. Overprotective.” Caleb swears the room tints red. Without another second to spare, gravity lunges right at Viper to knock him off his feet.
The crunch of gears and grinding of bolts shoots through the air like a miasma of destruction, and you squeeze your eyes and ears shut, turning away from the massacre taking place in front of you. Within a few, short seconds, the man standing before you is a mess of parts, his unseeing eyes staring listlessly into the air.
Caleb approaches you and sinks to his knees, gathering you into his arms.
“Are you hurt?” He demands. “Did he hurt you anywhere?”
You force your numb lips to move, shaking your head. “N-no. I’m fine. He just—just took me off guard.”
There’s no time to lose. In a few hours, Caleb’s helped you pack, the plan to move you to safety expedited by a few weeks. It’s not an ideal situation, but he would rather you sleep surrounded by boxes for a few days than to be caught up in the mess Ever had embroiled him in—a mess that would have devastating consequences for you.
As he loads the car with some quickly packed bags, he tells you to sit in the passenger seat and not make a sound. His jaw is clenched, veins popping from his temple. The second he gets into the car with you, Caleb floors it and speeds off.
Tentatively, you reach out to take his hand, and to your surprise, he intertwines your fingers together, holding your hand tightly.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” he manages to choke out, the fear and anxiety making his heartbeat reach dangerous zones. Caleb forces himself to suck in a few deep, sharp breaths. You soothe him by rubbing his shoulder, shaking your head.
“I’m fine. We’re fine. Nothing happened. I was just shocked that Viper was standing there. I… but he didn’t hurt me. He just told me he wanted to wait for you to come home.”
Somehow, that’s worse. Caleb doesn’t know what the Professor has up his sleeve, but he sure as hell has little doubts that it isn’t anything pretty. And, now that someone knows about you and your condition… Caleb’s light violet eyes harden.
There is absolutely no way in hell they were going to get you.
He would rather lose his other arm than risk you or the baby.
Family. It’s what he’s sworn to protect—from the beginning all the way to the bitter end.
On your little island away from the entire world, the sun shines down in honeyed rays, highlighting your swollen belly.
You can’t believe that in a few weeks time, you’ll get to see Oliver right in the flesh, hold him in your arms and kiss his little head. Caleb’s been more of a nervous wreck than you. While you’ve been doing your deep breathing exercises and bouncing on your yoga ball to stimulate contractions, your lover is quietly seeking discreet methods to help you with the inevitable home birth.
Though he hides his nerves behind a calm, stoic facade, you know him all too well. Caleb’s been going for more runs lately, sometimes starting at the early hours of the morning. When he comes home, he showers, changes and slips into bed next to you, pressing a kiss to your forehead and, tentatively, starts to stroke your belly.
He’s definitely not like other excited fathers-to-be.
Caleb doesn’t gush about his son, nor does he commit those stupid romcom acts of kneeling at your feet and pressing kisses to the domed flesh of your stomach. He definitely doesn’t get teary-eyed or ecstatic when he paints the nursery with you.
It’s more like a dull, hum of mundanity. Like nothing could ever phase him.
And, a part of you thinks… Does he hate the baby?
If you weren’t secretly awake right now, you might’ve thought so. The night is dark and filled with flashing thunder. He still thinks you’re fast asleep.
Caleb’s head is on your chest, and he gently caresses the bump, the soothing motion making Oliver flutter deep in your womb.
“Hey, little guy,” his soft voice pierces the lull, and you feel Oliver responding, turning at the sound of his father’s voice. “Whoops—looks like you’re awake, huh…?”
There’s a sharp inhale of breath.
“Look, between you and me, Oli, I can’t think of a reason why I should want you—” Your heart hurts at his admittance. “—but, I love your mom, and by some miracle, she loves a sucker like me, too.” Another deep breath, this time, a little more shaky.
“I hope you know, I…” a soft, hitched sob. “I just—I just really want you to be safe.”
Caleb shudders and you feel him wipe his eyes with the edge of his shirt. You wait for him to say more, but he falls silent. His breathing grows deeper, and you realize he’s fallen asleep.
You never speak to him about that vulnerable moment, and he doesn’t share what’s really burdening his heart.
Caleb may not say it, but you can see in his actions how much he truly loves Oli.
Nutritious meals all prepared by him, baby clothes sourced from a local vendor, more cams and CCTVs set up around the remote estate, so far away from any form of civilization. It feels like you’re in your own little bubble, away from the world.
As you make the final touches in the nursery before your scheduled due date, you smile at the rocking chair he bought from an antique store. It’s an old thing—barely used. But, you love how it adds a touch of rustic care to the cozy space. Folding some baby clothes, you notice Caleb holding a box in his hand, moving it to the crib.
“What’s that?”
For the first time since he found out about this pregnancy, Caleb looks… excited?
“Check this out, Pips,” he pulls out a crib mobile, begins to assemble it. Dangling from the arch, you see tiny acrylic planes and stars, the sight making your chest squeeze.
“Are those—?”
“Plane mobiles,” his chest puffs out with pride. “Yep,” he pops the ‘p’. “I found them online and had them delivered to the mainland. Whatcha think? Sweet, huh?”
You walk over to him and take his hand. “It’s so adorable.”
He squeezes your fingers, this moment feeling bigger than the two of you. “Now, he can dream sweetly about little paper planes.”
“Yeah,” you echo, seeing the first stirrings of love and anticipation for the baby on Caleb’s glowing expression. He finally looks happy.
“Now, he can dream of paper planes.”
Giving birth has got to be one of the top ten hardest physical things you’ve done in your life.
But, with Caleb by your side, it moves like a breeze. He had spent months preparing for this moment. Watching videos, simulating the birth, getting used to seeing blood—everything he did was so he could be prepared to help you.
His hands are warm, his voice a low, murmur of support, helping you through with the water birth. You cry when you feel him bundle up Oliver in a soft blanket, and take his hand after he cuts the cord that finally severs you and the baby apart—your living, breathing proof of love finally in your arms.
Later that night, as you’re resting in the bedroom, you hear Caleb get up from his spot next to you.
The space has been cleaned and sterilized. While he handled the birth all on his own, Caleb did have some help from Zayne, who gave him tips on how to create the safest, cleanest environment for both mother and baby. In the middle of this lonesome estate facing the seas, your eyes follow your lover as he picks Oliver up from his crib, the tiny newborn making a soft noise, almost like a loving coo.
Again, he doesn’t know that you’re awake.
“You’re such a lil’ miracle, ya know that?” Caleb’s voice, soft and fringed with exhaustion, reaches back to you on the bed. “Shucks,” he whispers under his breath. “You’re so adorable.”
He’s right. Though only a few hours old, Oliver has your nose and his eyes. Sparse and downy, his hair is dark just like his father’s.
You hear him place a soft kiss onto the baby’s head.
“I… I can’t believe you’re here. You’re finally here.”
Caleb’s voice is as familiar to you as your own heartbeat—voracious, excited, raised, angry, filled with warmth, lowered by an octave when he was in you, you’ve heard them all… but you have never heard him speak so tenderly to someone like this before.
“Crap, swore I wouldn’t cry…”
You hear him sniffle, and your heart tugs, squeezing with all the love you hold for him.
“Listen… I just wanna say I’m sorry if I sometimes can’t be the man you need me to be. It’s… complicated. Dangerous. I might not act like me, but I want you to know I’ll always love you, and protect you.”
You feel his remorse echo sincerely.
“No matter what, I’ll love you and your mom. Always. All my life. I…” he swallows. “Never had a dad. Or, a mom. I only had your mom, lil’ guy. And she’s the best person I’ve ever met in my life. You’re gonna love her as much as I do—maybe even more.”
He gently bounces Oliver in his arms.
“And, one day when you grow up, I hope you can protect her. Take care of her when your old man isn’t around—crap. I am your old man, huh? Your pa…”
You turn over soundlessly, and admire the build of his broad back cradling the tiny, sleeping bundle in his arms. Though you feel guilty at eavesdropping, a part of you is glad you could witness this—see the love he has for Oliver finally spilling over. Maybe you’ve known it all along… he did love your son. Caleb has always wanted this baby.
It’s just he couldn’t admit it because he didn’t want to let it be real. He didn’t want to put his family in danger.
“I know it’s too soon, but I’ll explain to you and your mom. One day. About everything,” his whispers stir the exhaustion in you, and without meaning to, you start to doze off, almost missing the last words he says.
“About my arm… my world… how your mom and I grew up… I’d do anything to make sure you’re both safe and free—”
Caleb pauses as he hears your soft snores. He turns back, admiring your sleeping figure in the dim moonlight.
“Heh. She’s out cold.”
He turns back to the sweet, little tot also fast asleep in his arms and places a lingering kiss on the baby’s forehead.
“Sleep tight, Oli. You’re safe with us,” Caleb’s expression softens for his son, this tiny human he created out of love.
Am i allowed to kiss Redacted yes or no (pls yes i love him so much)
✦゜ANSWERED: what if i just said no lmao
"Can I kiss you?" His face draws closer than you expect it to, and you can feel the faint puffs of air ghost along your lips as he speaks. "Please, angel?"
He looks pretty like this, you muse, taking in his sharp ocean-tinted eyes, the way his long eyelashes flutter shut, and the faint freckles and blemishes scattered across the expanse of his skin.
Without missing a beat, you close the distance between the two of you and press your lips against his own. Yearning and familiarity fill your entire being as you lean closer into his warmth, allowing his arms to snake across your back and rest just above your hips.
And when he pulls away, you unconsciously follow. The taste of strawberry still lingers on your lips, and you watch as Ren leans in once more to press his forehead against yours. He's peering down at you with a tender and benign gaze now, yet it holds so much softness that you almost find yourself wondering if this really was your beloved boyfriend sitting in front of you.
When he speaks once more, you feel his words before you hear them.
What will Ren do if angel wants to get hus name tattooed on themselves? I know he did his tats by himself SO WILL HE DO IT FOR THEM OR WILL HE HIDE HIS TATTOO ARTIST SKILLS?
aaandd...
How will Ren take care of an angel who is hella self destructive (e.g. doesn't eat, doesn't drink, sleep deprived, overworks themselves, etc)? Will he sorta be a caring bf or will he be too scared to ask them to do something?
I love ren and I love you for making this game saint 🙏🫡 all hail bald ren 🥚
✦゜ANSWERED: Wahhhh no, thank you for all of the amazing art you've made!! ;v;
"Y'sure? This is permanent, y'know." A mess of dark hair blocks out most of your view as your boyfriend gently runs a gloved thumb over your skin. "Or… Semi-permanent. D'ya feel like paying for a tattoo removal appointment?"
"I'm sure," Comes your curt response — alongside an affirmative nod and a gentle squeeze over his bicep, "I wouldn't ask you to do this if I wasn't."
"...You're really sure?" No longer hunched over, he looks up at you this time. Soft, blue eyes hold your gaze as he decides to pull another answer from you. "Positive?"
"Yes," His name slips off your tongue easily, and you fight the urge to roll your eyes. "I'm positive."
"Alright then."
Despite his calm demeanour, internally [REDACTED] was screaming and vibrating and bouncing around the walls of his brain. You wanted a tattoo of his name.
His name.
His real name.
Surely you must've known how much that gesture meant to him? I mean, sure, he was the one who impulsively tattooed your name on his throat and hip years ago, but it was merely to show just how dedicated he was to you and how far his feelings went. He was entirely yours — both physically and emotionally — and wanted everyone to know it.
Did that mean you felt the same way?
He figured you would've been sick of him by now after all these years, or at the very least... annoyed. Annoyed with him always asking you to eat something, even if it was a little bit. Constantly making sure you weren't overworking yourself, whether it was by sharing the workload or offering you a massage. Invariably dragging you to bed early with promises of endless cuddles, kisses, and warm blankets.
Despite all that, you still wanted him around?
Finally moving from his hunched-over position over your body, your dark-haired hacker looks up at you with the softest look in his eyes — almost as if you were the reason the moon rose in the sky every night. And as if he was the endless ocean, constantly gravitating towards you because it just felt right.
You held back the urge to move his bangs aside to get a better look at his face, and instead let the dark-haired man lean even closer into your personal space to place a chaste kiss upon your lips. Cherry and mint flood your senses as your boyfriend gently cups your jaw, and you can practically feel the adoration and appreciation radiate from the kiss he was giving you.
He doesn't seem to pull away from you for what feels like hours, but when he does, he doesn't stray far.
"What was that for?" You break the silence.
"…Felt like it."
Yet another curt response was given before he looks back to the patch of your skin he had prepared earlier. Giving you one last final glance, he picks up his tattoo gun with a determined glint in his eyes and starts to ink in the first letter of his name.
Ren is the type of guy to hug you from behind in a grocery store when your trying to get a item. in general, he’s clinging to Angel like a puppy in the grocery store, and everywhere.
"Pinky, please." With an eye-roll and gentle nudge to his ribs, you try to reach for the frozen pizza on the top shelf — only to have your pink-haired boyfriend pull you back between the handlebar of the shopping trolley and his chest.
"We can come back and get it later." He all but hums, "It's too cold here."
"Because this is the freezer isle. It's supposed to be cold." Trying your luck once more, you barely make it two steps away before Ren is pulling you back with a gentle tug guiding you forward.
You have no choice but to go along with him as you continue to walk down the frozen produce section — nestled snuggly between his chest, toned arms, and the cart filled partway with all your groceries. He places one of his large hands on top of yours for extra measure, and helps to steer the trolley (and you) in the direction of his choosing.
"Ren!" Despite your hushed tone, your words were laced with slight annoyance as you try to protest. "We've looped this store four times now! Just let me get my damn pizza!"
"We will! A-After we check out the dessert isle." You didn't need to turn around to know he had a pleased grin on his face and a spring in his step. "You can get anything you want there, promise!"
Something inside you tells you that you should've stuck to online shopping instead.
The 14DWY brainrot is real... >_< were ypu planning on sharing koi ren's design here too or is it discord only for now? remember to drink lots n lots of water today 🐸☔️
i don't rmbr if i included this but can you share any koi crumbs too?
✦゜ANSWERED: aaaaa I'm 14 years late to this ask (/silly), but thank you for reminding me!! I'll add the new Mer Ren design to da queue >:3
I'll also put the Koi Ren (I'm rocking with this new name!!) crumbs under the cut!!
"Stop rocking the boat, Ren." Without sparing a glance in his direction, you continue to stare out into the vast, open lake. "You'll scare away all the fish."
Had you turned around, you would've seen the faux-deadpan look on his face as Ren takes in the irony of your words. As if to prove a point, he gently swishes his tail in the water, which causes small ripples to form and (eventually) disturb your bobber. "I don't think the boat is the problem here."
"Okay, how about this... One more fish, then we can go back." You finally look back at your scaley companion — who was still leaning against the edge of your tin boat with a lazy smile — and give him a resolute nod. "Promise."
"Sure," Ren casually reaches into the boat to pick and pluck at some of your live bait. "But you said that about the last three fish."
"This will be the last one. I swear."
"You... swear?" You try to ignore the way Ren swallows up one of your minnows as if you weren't using them for bait as he continues to speak, "Like... curse words? Humans sure are weird creatures."
As if realising his comment, Ren's ocean-blue eyes widen slightly and shift towards your form. "N-Not... Not you, though."
With a laugh, you playfully try to nudge him off of the boat. All it does is cause it to tip slightly, but Ren steadies it when you show signs of losing balance.
"Alright. One more fish, then?"
You nod and cast your attention back to your rod once more. You don't even notice the silence — nor Ren slipping away — until you suddenly feel a tug on your line and call out to your companion in excitement. "That was quick!"
Quickly reeling it in, you wonder what kind of fish you'd just caught — it's definitely stronger than you anticipated, given how the rod drastically bends and snaps at every movement from the fish. And just as you see the shadow from the murky depths get closer, the ripples get bigger and cause a stir underneath your tin boat. Standing up now, you try with all your might to reel it on board...
...Only for a mess of black hair to emerge from below and peer up at you with a smug look.
"Ren!"
"Looks like you got a big one."
"C'moooon." You practically whine, though you allow Ren to haul himself into your tiny boat and rest his head in your lap. You can still feel his body shake from underneath your touch, no doubt still laughing at his poor attempt at a joke. "This doesn't count."
A beat passes before your fishy companion responds. "...Hm? Fine then."
Another moment of silence follows before he slithers back into the water without another word. Half of you worries that you might've said something to offend him (there was still the tiniest hint of a language barrier between you two). Still, it ultimately leads to nothing as Ren soon emerges once more — only this time, he's hauling the biggest largemouth bass you'd ever seen into your boat.
"This good enough?" He looks at you with wide, blue eyes. "If not, I can probably find a sturgeon and—"
"It's bigger than my boat!"
"Is this what your kind calls... exaggeration? Because your boat is big enough even for me to—"
"—Arghh! It's getting water everywhere! Put it back!"
It was almost comical how Ren tossed the fish over his shoulder and back into the water without breaking eye contact with you.
Another wave of silence hits, yet neither of you seems to move or break the awkward staring contest you'd somehow started. It's then when you notice Ren's grin get bigger — most likely at your resignation and embarrassment — which causes you to fall back into your seat in defeat.
"Fine. Enough fishing for today. Let's head back." Busying yourself with the bucket of fish and tacklebox in front of you, you secure your gear and pack everything away. But it seems Ren had other plans, seeing as he took it upon himself to climb back into your boat and rest his arms on your legs. No longer able to move as freely, you have no choice but to indulge in his carefree whims.
"But you caught me. Aren't you going to bring me home too?"
"As much as I want to," Truly, you do. You've always wanted to show Ren the world outside of Lake Bluemoss. "There's no way I'm carrying you all the way down the mountain."
"You never know until you cry."
"Try." You correct him. "Until you try."
"Your kind sure are funny." Ren nuzzles himself closer. "Perhaps another time, then... Stay here tonight."
Your body pricks up at his words, and you spare a glance at the abandoned boathouse near the dock. Despite its rough and rugged exterior, you and Ren actually made it quite comfy. It had some of your old blankets and sheets thrown over one of the boats to make it comfortable to lounge in — alongside a giant empty tank that you and Ren filled with water for him to sit in as well. Despite the lack of human traction, the place still felt homey and well-loved.
"...I guess I could."
"Then what are we waiting shore?"
You had to roll your eyes at his attempt at a pun.
╰┈➤ ❝ I just need to know in case…❞ ❝ In case what? In case you take it a little too far in role-playing? In case you go down on me and the words mon emperor leave your lips? ❞ - After a round of some silly drinking game, MC can't help but have certain thoughts about Napoleon and how easily he takes on the role of someone in power. Naturally, she wants to know his boundaries of it.
Napoleon Bonaparte/f!Reader • rating: E (MDNI) • tags: Drinking Games; Alcohol; Shenanigans; Humor; Sexual Tension; Massage; Kink Negotiation; Sexual Roleplay; Power Play; Dominant Napoleon; Dom/sub; Master/Servant; Blow Jobs; Oral Sex; Choking; Dacryphilia; Stripping; Dirty Talk; Vaginal Fingering; Begging; Vaginal Sex; Creampie; Aftercare • wordcount: 6,055 • masterlist
a/n: The idea for this fic was conceived long before an event of the same theme came to Ikevamp EN... We ended up not seeing them all play together in the game so I hope this right here fixes that, maybe? I have no idea how it ended up being that long. I guess I've been looking for the right opportunity to explore this part of Napoleon's character in a smut fic, namely his feelings about being called emperor and the likes in the bedroom. Hope you enjoy!
"Oh, I know! How about we play the Ousama game? It's a popular drinking game back home, in my era!"
It's rare for MC to be the one initiating activities on game nights, so naturally, all eyes are on her. Dazai is quick to give his enthusiastic approval, wanting to know more about a game that came after his time but originates from his homeplace. Sebastian smiles in a similar fashion.
"Good pick, MC. I think our residents are going to like it. Will you please excuse me for a second?"
As Sebastian stands up from the table and dashes out of the room, someone's comment oh my god, he's totally fetching his diary, can be heard. But really, there are no hard feelings. Everyone's more than happy to welcome Sebastian at the table and see him being more open and relaxed around his masters for once. Maybe it does have to be documented.
"It's not something like Arthur's games, I assume?" Isaac directs his gaze at MC, almost pleading under the surface for an affirmative response.
She rubs awkwardly at the back of her neck. As much as she hates to disappoint him…
"Erm, it's basically a game of dares… but don't worry, you can always refuse a dare!"
"That's it, if you want to take the punishment, Newt." Arthur seems ready to dance on the physicist's nerves with a complimenting chin-cupping stance, elbows rested on the table and all. Theo rolls his eyes.
"Let me guess. Refuse a dare and drink a shot."
"That's correct." MC nods before Arthur can take more liberties at orchestrating her own game, even if they happen to be thinking in the same direction. "Let me go get what we need for the game!"
By the time Sebastian is back and patting his breast pocket suspiciously, so is MC, with a handful of… chopsticks. And a fountain pen.
"So, what I'm going to do now is write a number for each one of us… Vincent, Theo, Arthur, Isaac, Mozart, Dazai, Sebastian, Napoleon, and I…so that means numbers 1 to 8, and on the ninth chopstick, I'm going to write Ousama - which means 'King' - and then we shuffle the chopsticks in a cup - Arthur, can you pass me the empty cup next to you? - then we each take one but without showing our numbers to the others. Whoever gets the Ousama chopstick becomes King and he places a dare for someone, using the numbers! Is everything clear?"
"Uh. What kind of dares are allowed?"
Napoleon nods at the direction the question originates from. "Good point. Hey, maybe tone it down with the sexual stuff. There are taken people at the table."
Arthur snaps, "Why are you looking at me? I wasn't intending to. Besides, if a dare doesn't stand right with you, you can always drink and avoid it!"
Memories of other game nights seem to flood multiple minds at once, so MC lets out a half-chuckle half-sigh and moves on. She does take a mental note of the hint of possessiveness in Napoleon's comment just now who instantly got worried about another man being prompted to touch her inappropriately. As if anyone has the balls to touch Napoleon's woman, she thinks to herself… and kind of likes the way it sounds in her head.
It's a shame that Leonardo and Comte aren't joining them tonight and are instead enjoying a more sane way of getting alcohol in their system, in some quiet corner of the mansion. And Comte is totally not smoking a cigarillo right now while talking to his old friend, claiming that he hasn't had one in forever, again. And for that matter, Jean's presence is missed as well, but sadly (although understandably) he dislikes partaking in such activities. He's a lot like Mozart in this regard, with the difference that Mozart becomes another person when he drinks some. And that person loves joining drinking games with his buddies!
"If we're all ready - here we go!"
MC gives the cup a rather unnecessary bartender-style shake, assuring the chopsticks are well shuffled and ready to make it to all the wrong hands.
Once placed on the table, a crowd of hands quickly reach into the cup and sneakily withdraw in order to hide their new secret identity, with the exception of one person who has nothing to hide.
"I'm the king. My, I wasn't prepared for this."
As Sebastian holds up the chopstick of fate high in the air for all to see, a few pairs of surprised eyes catch his own. And something like a shimmer lights up in Sebastian's ones.
For someone as unprepared as him, he surely doesn't waste time on thinking about his next move. Not at all.
"Number 6, exchange a clothing item with number 1. Number 3, take off your pants without using your hands. And number 4 must do a handstand."
"By Jove, Sebas, your fetishes are showing!" Arthur blinks, both surprised and somehow entertained by the turn of events which (in his own head) kicks him off the position of number one most perverted person around the table. Or at least for the time being. He's only smiling now because he's safe, being the lucky number 7 and out of Sebastian's fantasies.
Isaac and Theo can't say the same. They exchange a look - eyes traveling up and down each other's frames - looking for a convenient clothing item to exchange, given their different builds. Theo is done with his choice first, and he reaches over the table to undo Isaac's necktie. The smaller man averts his gaze, turning his head away as much as he can so it's not in Theo's way, or perhaps out of embarrassment, but it's over before it ever began thanks to Theo's rough but effective methods of freeing the cloth from under his collar. Using the chance coming with the shortened distance, Isaac snatches Theo's scarf in return as the most adequate thing to take.
"Aw, you two are boring." Napoleon mocks for change, drumming his fingers on the table with a smirk. Theo muses with the thin black tie in his hands, turning to Napoleon with an empty look and silently wrapping it around his forehead instead, tying it off at the side.
"Is this better?"
"Snrk. I don't know, what do we think, Sebas?"
"I approve of your new look, Master Theodorus. Or should I drop the 'Master'? I'm the King now, after all."
MC gasps, "Sebas! Oh, this game is dangerous…"
"Tell me about it. My first dare and I already have to drink. Woe is me." Dazai weeps, rising up from his seat to point at his hakama, making it impossible for him to complete the take off your pants without hands dare.
"Guess that leaves me." Napoleon sighs, pushing his chair back audibly as he stands up.
"Ooh! Go for it, Naps!"
"Good thing it went to someone who's in good shape. I bet it's a piece of cake for him."
"We'll see now." Napoleon smirks to himself, rubbing his hands together as he prepares to tackle the handstand. His eyes get serious for a second as he calculates it all, and in the next moment, his hands are flat against the floor changing the center of his weight. While he's upside down, the gravity makes his partly untucked shirt expose his abs.
Someone whistles, and MC finds herself staring. As if for the first time.
All too soon, Napoleon is back on his feet again, dusting off his palms and retaking his seat by the table. Sebastian is beaming. "I like this game. Thank you for the idea, MC."
"Thank you, MC." Mozart chimes in, for some reason, oblivious to Sebastian making history tonight as opposed to quietly observing it from the side like usual.
"Haha, you guys are welcome… so, let's do it again, shall we? Let's see who will be King this time around~!"
After the new shuffle of chopsticks, everyone seems a little more lively, a little more hopeful - some driven by revenge and some simply by the contagious evil brewing in the air.
"Who is King?"
Out of the people looking at their newly acquired chopsticks, Napoleon is the one who speaks up.
"I guess that would be me."
"It's Napoleon, huh…"
"Oh, how fitting! You were born for it, Naps."
"Haha, not really."
"My bad. You're an emperor, not a king. I'm so sorry, Your Majesty."
Napoleon snorts, not playing along - or perhaps his dismissing the extended apology is his way of playing along. MC raises an eyebrow, studying his reaction. Napoleon's attitude towards these things is… rather complicated, as he seems to both loathe his so-called days of glory and simultaneously accept them for what they are, a part of him. She's been confused more than once about what's a good way of navigating through the situation when the topic is brought up in their conversations. On one hand, she hates the change of expression on his face that makes her feel like winter has returned - even if it's never going to feel to her like how it felt to him, the cruel winter - on the other, she knows he hates it when people walk on eggshells around him.
But now they're all at least half-drunk and merely goofing around. No one's bothered to care about these things, and maybe Napoleon prefers they don't anyway.
"Number 5, hold three ice cubes in your mouth until they melt. Number 4, confess about a fetish you have in front of everyone. Number 2, crack an egg over Number 7's head. Number 1, give me a massage."
"N-Napoleon is a sadist!!"
"So cruel…"
And he's laughing too. Sadistic tendencies aside, his laughter sounds every bit as genuine (and loud) as MC always remembers it to be, and it's strangely soothing. Maybe she should refuse a dare just for the shot, just to drown her worries a little more… Taking a look at her chopstick again because she thinks she heard her number, she sees a 1.
Theo goes somewhere, for ice presumably, despite Sebastian's offer to do it in his stead, and Arthur follows. "Wait, I'll go for the eggs."
"Who got the fetish one?" Napoleon browses the faces of the ones left at the table to spot the flushed one. Vincent raises a hand.
"My fetish is, um… I don't really-"
"Come on Vincent-kun, we all have fetishes~"
"I think I could say… maybe… um.."
"Yes? Go on, say it. We won't judge."
"I'd love it if my partner would touch themselves and let me watch."
"That's perfectly normal, Master Vincent. Nothing to be ashamed of."
"Woah, it's both very vanilla and somehow kinky at the same time..." MC muses out loud. "Oh, but nothing to be ashamed of, certainly!"
Arthur and Theo return, with the latter immediately taking note of Vincent's beet-red face.
"What did I miss? Broer?"
"The fetish dare… Don't worry, Theo, I just had a shot instead."
"Oh, that's good. I mean, no it's not! Napoleon, how dare you make mjin broer take a punishment!"
"It wasn't really- Anyway, Theo, let's shut you up now."
Theo groans, dragging on every move as if giving the ice a chance to melt as much as possible before the inevitable contact with his mouth. At last, there's nowhere to escape and he pops the cubes in his mouth, thankfully they fit.
"Okay, I've been waiting for this. Who gets an egg in the head?"
"It's me… I hate this game…"
Isaac cards his fingers through his strawberry locks, as if for one last time while they're still egg-free. In the meantime, Theo's expression twists, less out of sympathy and more because the ice begins to torture him from the inside out.
"And the executioner?"
"Master Isaac, I'm truly sorry, it's me." Sebastian raises his gloved hand.
"Ahahaha! Haha!" Mozart laughs at the turn of events seeing a servant disserving his master. Or maybe the reason behind his laughter is nowhere that complex. One thing is certain, for some reason, he always gets out of the bunch's drinking games taking no damage in the form of nasty dares and punishments.
Sebastian stands up reluctantly, then sits down again. "Should I just drink? But I have to remind, I can't hold my liquor very well, I'm afraid."
"Just get it over with. I won't be mad at you or anything."
Sebastian sighs to show a little more reluctance before committing the deed. He looks like he's trying to miss his target, but unfortunately the raw egg still perfectly lands on Isaac's head, quickly descending down his face. Isaac's grossed-out expression mirrors Theo's current agony. As someone hands Isaac a handkerchief to wipe off the sticky mess with, another jokingly calls the sight erotic…
"Alright, I'm ready for my massage. Who shall serve the King?"
Napoleon relaxes back in his seat demonstratively in anticipation. It's a bold invitation, and everyone looks up to see the chosen one.
"My king."
MC stands up, showing her chopstick marked with the number 1. She tries to mute the sound of the others' reactions in her head as suddenly her pulse speeds up.
Napoleon flashes her a grin.
"Very well. The King is expecting you."
He lifts his glass to his lips as he hasn't touched it since the beginning of the game, probably deeming it worthless with the nature of the game. Not that he's expecting to be drinking anytime soon - he's simply not the type to back out from any dare unless it's too ridiculous even for him. Maybe that's why he started to miss the warmth at the back of his throat.
As MC makes her way to where he sits, she witnesses the singular bobbing of his Adam's apple when he gulps down the liquid, and she watches dumbstruck for a second as he motions for her to take a sip if she wants to, from the same glass. Well, yes, she finished her own drink a while ago. She accepts the glass from his hold.
"Now, what kind of massage should I request? Hmm…"
Arthur's dirty remarks fall on deaf ears as MC focuses on not choking on the liquid in her mouth.
Napoleon is a giver.
But there's something damn attractive when he allows himself to take from others.
"The king orders you to rub his shoulders."
And it's damn attractive when he's commanding like that. She sees now what the others were referring to in their provocations earlier - it rolls so, so easily off his tongue when he gives an order like this. Even if it's for a stupid game, the sharp look he gives her feels rather… real.
Not that this is anything new to her. For all Napoleon's gentleness, in the bedroom, he has this side of him that colors him rather dominant. And she'd be lying if she said she's gotten so used to it by now she doesn't feel anything between her legs right this moment. Instead of being a liar, she blames it on the alcohol.
Standing behind Napoleon, MC puts her hands on his broad shoulders… and really, it's been a while since she last gave him a massage. Usually, it's the other way around, as Napoleon added it to his ever-growing list of skills, even if initially it was something he'd never done before, given his status in his past life. Now she has his shoulders all to herself to knead and push at, and she catches herself putting selfishness in the act of service. Because she can't help but have impure thoughts.
Napoleon groans. It's quiet but she catches it over the cacophony of other noises in the room coming from the rowdy bunch. They're already setting things up for the next round, and here she's still stuck on her dare. She doesn't want to go back to her seat. Maybe Napoleon can read her thoughts like he always does and offer her his lap for the rest of the night; maybe he will go further and excuse the two of them for the night-
One hand at work, she reaches the other into the cup because they tell her to, and it appears to be Isaac's turn to be King. Good for him, but bad for everyone else. Seems like it's going to be a long night…
Later in the night and a few more rounds down the line, apples have been eaten without hands, glasses have been downed, a few mounts were the targets of unpleasant substances, either deadly spicy or deadly sweet, some clothes have been removed, some eyes filled with tears - and the collective level of soberness in the room has been drastically lowered.
It's a surprise how they even managed to put an end to it before the sun came out when naturally there's always someone who didn't get a chance to take revenge on someone else. Napoleon and Theo, being the best at holding their liquor as per usual, felt it their duty to help the others to their rooms.
MC didn't have much to drink, otherwise she'd be asleep on the pile of residents by now. Not that she intended to retain some of her soberness, it simply happened - because the bubbling feeling in her chest wasn't caused by alcohol, to begin with.
Napoleon, always the caretaker. Maybe if she throws herself at him he'll carry her to her room as well.
"Goodnight, Theo, go get some sleep." The sound of him returning after separating from Theo interrupts her daydreams.
Once he sees he's all alone with MC, he offers her a smile.
"And we're the last ones again. C'mon Nunuche, let's go to our room."
"Carry me?"
MC tries her best puppy-dog eyes at him, and he tests her for a second like it doesn't work on him. He then gawks at her laziness, hoisting her up his shoulder and giving her ass a little spank. "Let's get you to bed, naughty Nunuche. Some of those guys will be mad at you for weeks, you know? But you better not give them those eyes. Only I get to see them."
"Mm…Napoleon?"
The varnished floorboards creak under Napoleon's steps as he makes his way down the hall, holding MC's weight securely. "Yes?"
"Do you really enjoy it? You know, being treated like a majesty."
It's a short trip, and MC's perspective soon goes back to normal as the floor and the walls swap their places once more before her eyes. Not that she's interested in it, so she throws herself at the bed in the next second, sinking in the welcoming embrace of the comforter, not bothering with removing it at least for the time being.
"Pfft, where did that come from?" Napoleon says while closing the door behind him. The crickets are still singing their songs under their window, it can't be that late in the night.
"From the game. For a second I was worried it left a bad taste in your mouth."
"Hmm." Napoleon fake-muses, kicking off his shoes before sinking one knee on the bed. "I think I liked it when you were the one treating me like a majesty."
"No, don't joke, tell me seriously."
"I am serious though."
Somehow they end up in this position that doesn't help resolve the tension poisoning the air around them one bit; with him caging her with his body on the soft mattress and her having nowhere else to look at but right at his penetrating gaze. Her fingers twitch, nails catching into the fabric of the comforter, seeking a sense of stability.
"I just need to know in case…"
"In case what? In case you take it a little too far in role-playing? In case you go down on me and the words mon emperor leave your lips?"
Like a spark to the kerosene pooling low in her belly, Napoleon's words make beautiful explosions bloom behind her eyelids that have fallen shut amidst the last sentence. She takes a breath but it only feeds the fire as she can't help the way her exhale sounds raspy.
"Would you like that?"
"Would you?"
MC bites on her bottom lip. "This is not about me."
"I thought you wanted to serve your King."
She averts her gaze, because if she looks a little longer at this alluring jade gaze that reeks of sex, she'll be able to feel herself losing her composure, and she's trying to have a serious conversation here.
"I do."
"Hmm." Napoleon plays with her, trailing a hand down her modest home dress, prodding at the buttons at the front. "This is bad, I don't know what to ask for first. I've lost shape."
"Liar. You were perfect at it earlier."
"Someone's been paying attention. Were you also fucking me with your eyes? Right there, at the table?"
MC takes two sharp breaths, and it resembles panting, all too soon. It's out of irritation and not arouse, not yet. When she pictured their little game, she thought she'd just have to bow her head obediently and indulge in her desire to serve. Not enduring Napoleon's verbal teasing as any other night.
"Is it that bad? Will my King punish me now as he sees fit?"
Napoleon looks at her. For all the things that may be at the tip of his tongue, MC imagines most vividly the tone Napoleon would speak them in and how much he's cut for the role. Her soul sings at the thought, but it's nothing holy.
"Get up then. Don't you think it's a little rude to be lying down in my presence?"
That's fair. With renewed vigor, she pushes herself off the bed and waits readily by the side of it.
"Remember to not look me in the eyes. It's forbidden. You'll only look when I allow you to, if I allow you to. You'll have to earn my grace."
Instinctively, MC wants her nod to be accompanied by eye contact, but she corrects her mistake before it can even take place.
"Present yourself. Take it all off."
MC blinks surprisedly at how fast things are happening but isn't against it at all. She has the feeling that he is capable of making her do all sorts of dirty things with a mere flick of his tongue, undressing for him is nothing.
She makes a show of it, despite not having many articles of clothing on her to take off seductively - before long, she's stepping out of her dress that has pooled at her feet, and she retakes her previous position.
"I'm pleased with what I'm seeing. Come closer. Kiss me."
He doesn't have to ask twice. It's something familiar and yearned for since they crossed the threshold of their room—hell, no, since they took a seat at the table for that game. It's welcoming and fulfilling and it's just what she needed-
Or so she thought, until she terribly embarrassed herself with a rather awkward and rigid pressing of lips against lips, and no movement. In her selfishness, and out of habit, she left her mouth open for Napoleon's invasion. But she's forgetting to consider that kings get tired of their conquests too.
She summons her boldness and turns the desire in her veins into fuel for action. She shoves her tongue in Napoleon's mouth, but gently, not with the intention to dominate, but rather to serve. To kiss him until he gets enough. Her tongue swirls against his own, the movement rather clumsy, the making out of a juvenile rather than that of a skillful lover… but it's what he wants. He wants to see her seduce him, use every millimeter of her body for his pleasure, and keep going until he has his fill.
A thin string of saliva connects their lips upon her withdrawal, and her eyes are shut tight. She has to keep them shut, otherwise she'll look right at him. Napoleon chuckles.
"You may open them."
She does, and the sight is not kind on her fragile composure. Locking eyes with Napoleon has never felt like this, like a privilege, and exploring this new feeling is exciting.
"You're not half bad with your mouth. Undress me and put it to use."
Heartbeat thumping in her ears, MC finds it impossible to conduct herself in that moment; to sturdy her hands into performing the task and to break her gaze from his piercing pools of jade. She starts with the shirt, more tugging at the buttons rather than precisely undoing them, before pushing it completely off his shoulders, and finally letting it fall to the floor. He's glorious with just his trousers on and that scrutinizing, almost cold gaze. She opens the fly enough to take his hardness out, and her stomach tightens instinctively.
She wets her lips and parts them, taking in the head of his cock, letting it rest on her tongue. Even when her world narrows down to the hot pulsing flesh in her mouth, she catches herself dividing her focus between pleasuring her lover and.. the position she's doing this in. There's a little bit of getting used to it being required, and it makes her realize how unfamiliar that is - her being on her knees, on the hardwood floor, and Napoleon standing upright. When was the last time they've found themselves in that exact arrangement? It could've happened once or twice before, in the heat of the moment, or when the space had limited them. But never intentionally. Not because MC has anything against it - rather, it would be Napoleon who changes the position whether he's about to receive oral. He makes sure he's at least sitting down at the edge of the bed, where MC can rest her hands on his hips, or on the bed. Where he can see her better, to check up on her. Now she has to look up to see him, and he seems so far away, or maybe her eyes are doing tricks on her, or maybe her vision is blurring because she accidentally took his cock too deep down her throat and now tears are gathering in the corners of her eyes.
Napoleon brings his hand over her head and collects a fistful of her hair, one unfamiliar thing after another - but before intimidation can mix into her blood, she breathes in deeply, because it's not him forcing her down his cock, it's him forcing her off it.
He holds his cock firmly by the base as he directs it at her parted lips again, but doesn't breach the gap between them. He simply rubs his cockhead on the soft cushion of them, gathering the saliva that starts to droll down and smearing it back on her lips.
"A pretty mouth indeed."
MC can only look at him. She looks at him like she's looking straight at an open flame.
"Next," Napoleon begins, cupping her chin and caressing with his thumb where his cock used to be just a second ago. "I want you to go on the bed and show me the position you want to be taken in. Can you do that for your King?"
MC finally averts her gaze; it happens involuntarily, purely as a reaction to another surge of surprise and embarrassment.
"I— Yes, my King."
Napoleon angles her chin up, a signal for her to rise to her feet. Yes, that would be a good start.
The bed is just two steps away from where she is but MC feels like she can trip thrice on the way there with how much her legs have turned to jelly. Still, she makes it. There's not much room for thinking this through, for deciding on what would work out best for both of them - normally it's him who takes these decisions, anyway - so once she leans forward on the bed, she gives way to impulsivity and the way it saves her from having to give it any more thought. If she has to name the reason, it would be that it aligns with everything that Napoleon is tonight. Of course it would be fitting if he were to take her on her hands and knees.
"Does this… please you?"
She hears the rustling of clothes behind her back, probably the sound of Napoleon getting rid of his trousers, before he approaches her. He doesn't say anything about approving the position or not, and MC can't decide if his silence is worse. He comes to stand right behind her, and she crawls a little closer to the edge of the bed to make sure their skin is touching. Napoleon lets one hand roam from the fold of her knee up to the curve of her butt, and MC jumps lightly at the touch. Needless to say, she's sensitive and oh-so neglected. Her insides throb at the mere proximity of Napoleon's slender fingers close to her sex - it's a miracle she doesn't come undone on the spot as he actually directs his touch to the apex of her thighs. Wetness catches on his fingertips and he wastes little time caressing her folds before plunging two fingers inside.
"Nnghhh…" MC tosses her head, trying her best to enjoy the feeling of finally, finally claiming some pleasure but without losing herself completely in it. Napoleon twists his fingers until his open palm is facing upwards, thrusts in and out a few times in a way that doesn't intend to bring pleasure but rather to prepare - and then his fingers audibly and briskly exit her wetness.
MC whines at the loss of his fingers but finds a new fire sparkled to life inside her, and she's more than happy she wouldn't have to wait any longer for the next dose of intoxicating pleasure.
"Good girl. Do you want my cock?" Napoleon asks, openly and greedy. He's not risking having her beat around the bush by posing a more generic question like what she wants next. They both know the answer to that already.
Not that he spares her the torturous reminder of what she'll get by saying the right thing. He rubs his flushed tip on her glistening folds, pressing it in enough to just barely catch on her entrance; to make her bite her tongue and assume he just might show mercy and put it in without her pleading for it.
"I- Yes, please, Napoleon— take me, fuck me! Please…"
She only realizes once it slips out that she used his name and not the object of their little game of pretend that is his title, but there's no going back.
Napoleon doesn't punish her for it. Instead, he rewards her, giving her what she wants most. The groan he lets out as the familiar warmth and tightness enfolds his aching cock is telling of his own desperation.
MC cries out at the intrusion, only now understanding the difference of not having him finger her for longer prior to this. It doesn't hurt - she just feels a little fuller somehow. A little on edge. He gives her time to adjust, however, and she just basks into this dangerous feeling for as long as it's there until he carefully withdraws only to give it another thrust.
"Ahh!" Her insides squeeze around Napoleon again, as he goes in deeper this time. She blames the position, trying to reason out why she feels him in her guts. Napoleon withdraws again, and then pushes in, trying to fit even more of himself inside.
"You're taking me so well. I'm so deep inside you, I bet you can feel me in your deepest parts."
She groans at his words and their truthfulness as his thrusts grow rhythmic, the place where they're connected burning with the delightful friction, and her arms soon give out. She buries her head between her hands, enduring the change of angle as her rear sticks out, and Napoleon keeps pounding at her. His own sounds of pleasure are barely masked by the sounds of skin on skin, but he's not hiding them either. He lets her know how good she's making him feel, telling her something dirty in a low voice that she can barely register over the drumming in her ears.
"You feel so good- merde- Ngh. I want to stay inside you forever."
He's always holding her tightly when he fucks her, his grip being strong enough to leave marks the following day, but there's something about the way he takes hold of her hips now. At first, MC thinks nothing of it, lost in euphoric pleasure. It's only when she feels her knees being lifted off the bed that she understands what's happening.
Napoleon rises up her bottom to meet his hips, in his standing upright position, taking full control of her body in that moment. He's so strong, making it all seem effortless; and it's not a matter of matching his thrusts anymore - she can't do anything. She's facing away, with one pair of limbs immobilized and the other grasping uselessly for purchase at the covers. Her whole body rocks back and forth, feeling like a ragdoll in Napoleon's arms. There's something primal and simultaneously embarrassing about how good it feels to give herself over to him like that; about the trust she puts in him to have her completely at his mercy.
And then Napoleon stills inside her. And he groans. And before she knows it, a warm spray of come hits her walls. Her eyes widen, only now realizing they've already been going at it for a while, for a while enough that he seemingly couldn't hold back and—
And maybe he just didn't feel like waiting for her to come before he does.
The realization makes her dizzy in an unexplainable way, and she moans so loudly she feels herself pathetically falling into that bottomless fit, just like that, just as Napoleon takes his cock out of her. It's petrifying, coming without him inside her, but strangely the pleasure never ceases. His hand finds his way between her quivering thighs and shoves them apart in a quick manner, beginning to rub at her clit; whispering praises against the skin of her nape, enveloping her smaller body with his own from behind as she presses into the bed so violently, chasing after her peak.
"Come for me. Come for me and scream my name."
And that's enough to tip her over the edge. Coming with Napoleon's load inside her intensifies the feeling; the way her insides are still remembering his shape, the way she's so full yet so empty. It makes her see stars.
"Napoleon— Ahhhhh!!"
"I'm here. I'm here, mon amour."
Napoleon holds her trembling form as he draws out the last of her high, gently moving her into a spooning position. He keeps touching her everywhere, her belly, her breasts, the curve of her shoulder, caressing all the spots that went unloved in their game.
"I felt— so good I thought I might die—"
Napoleon huffs out a breathy chuckle, and it tickles the babyhairs at the base of her neck.
"I'd be lying if I said this doesn't stroke my ego, Nunuche.", he whispers, and it's somehow more shiver-inducing than anything he's said that night. "I think you might be right. I might be enjoying myself a bit too much when I'm calling the shots."
MC turns her neck just enough to look at him from the corner of her eye. She studies him again, with his disheveled hair and boyish smile and his low tolerance of putting up a front now that he gave voice to his most basic instinct and let it rob him of the ability to give anything more thought than he needs to. She leans in for a kiss and he takes the initiative enthusiastically but ends up drawing it out to make the remaining endorphins dance slowly between their bodies.
Letting the tiredness in her limbs settle in just like the fact that the room is several shades a brighter blue than how they entered it, MC only nuzzles back onto Napoleon's chest, trying not to give voice to the heat between her legs beginning to awake again without a sense of the time.
"And I might just love to see you like that. Mon emperor."
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